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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25012609">I want to hear somebody bark</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietwandering/pseuds/quietwandering'>quietwandering</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Pet Shop Boys</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Kink Exploration, Light BDSM, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:54:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,486</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25012609</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietwandering/pseuds/quietwandering</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When I get back to my small flat</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Chris Lowe/Neil Tennant</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I want to hear somebody bark</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is just me writing big gay light kink adventures with Neil and Chris. I blame it entirely on coffeecakelatte for being a corrupt influence on me. Also, apologies if there's any similarities to So Came His Reply as I started writing it in the middle of writing this. </p><p>Title is <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xp3NhS9dQP0">I want a dog</a> by the Pet Shop Boys</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I laughed when Chris first brought it up, rolled my eyes outlandishly at the mere suggestion. “Oh, yes, <em> me</em>, darling. A true deviant into...<em>leather daddies </em> or what have you. Please.”</p><p>I didn't understand the crestfallen look on Chris' face at my response, not entirely sure what he'd expected me to say. So I focused on the hustle and bustle of the Spanish nightlife around us and the throngs of young Latinos prowling around in search of a good time, wondering if they were going to find it. </p><p>The topic only came up again when we’d been drinking too much on our tour bus one night. We were dying to reach our hotel and urgently in need of a break from our hectic schedules, but we’d been informed there’d be at least two more days on the road, maybe three if traffic was bad.</p><p>Misery loves the company of cheap red wine so Chris and I sat on the couch late into the night drinking through all the Merlot available, complaining about the tour, thinking about what our next album should be titled (“<em>Used Up</em>...no, that’s two words.”), joking about how we should get a private jet. U2 would have a spare one lying around, surely.</p><p>Then Chris suddenly swung his head round and stared up at me with an odd look on his face. “I-I wasn’t jokin' around,” Chris whispered, and I had no idea what he was talking about. I went to ask but was cut off before I had the chance. “I...wanted to tell you. I mean, <em> ask </em> you. If we could try it. I really did want to know.” </p><p>There was a telling silence as Chris finished off his glass of wine. My mind raced back to us sitting at the restaurant in Madrid a few weeks ago, and my throat tightened in realization. “Oh,” I said, ineffectively. The look on Chris’ face made me realize I had to get my racing thoughts together enough to provide a better answer than that though, especially since my previous one had clearly hurt him in someway. “That’s...It’s a very interesting idea, Chris, but I’m not sure I’m right for the role, in so many words. Perhaps that’s better suited for someone not of my, um...demeanor.” </p><p>I wasn’t going to insult myself and say I was <em> effeminate </em> or <em> camp</em>, but I wasn’t one of the tall, broad shouldered chaps outside of The Backstreet. I would never be able to inspire feelings as lofty as subordination in someone, surely. Though I'd never let myself explore something so risque before. Even now I was still plagued with Catholic guilt, and that meant even the tamest of sex was still a momentous occasion.</p><p>“Yes, well. Don’t trust no one else, do I?” Chris muttered, mostly to himself and his empty glass of wine. As we were out of Merlot, I picked up the Pinot Noir and topped his glass up, thinking that statement over. “Not exactly shagging anyone else for that matter.” </p><p>Surprised, I took a drink right from the bottle before I poured some into my own glass. “I’m not...seeing anyone, either, obviously, but we’ve not done much other than…” I was still too shy to say words like <em>penetrative </em>or <em>anal</em> out loud so I gestured a little with my hands, trying to subtly convey the idea to him. “I’ve so little experience in all this. It’d be really underwhelming to do stuff like that with me.” </p><p>“<em>Nothin</em>’ about you is underwhelming, Neil.” Chris’ face reddened, and I squeezed his hand in mine appreciatively. “I couldn’t be who I am without ye.” </p><p>Chris’ ability to say such genuine things made me feel so inept. “Thank you. That’s incredibly kind. I...I feel the same. I always have.” </p><p>Feeling more impulsive from the alcohol, I allowed myself to lean in and press our lips together. Chris was usually the one who initiated things between us, but I suddenly wanted to see what it was like to take the lead. I only realized when Chris leaned back to patiently pull the wine glass from my hand and set it safely aside that I probably would need <em> a lot </em> more practice in that regard.</p><p>/</p><p>A week or so later, we finally scheduled a few days off to go shopping and sightseeing, feeling a little burnt out as the tour began to wrap up. Chris had wanted to get back in the studio, and I wanted time to hide away in my bedroom with all the books I’d picked up in the last few months.</p><p>After a particularly eventful afternoon out, our assistant helped drag the bags we’d accumulated up to our hotel room, and we'd spent the next few hours sat together on the bed, separating out all our purchases. “Oh, this is dreadful, Chris,” I sighed, staring at the bizarrely printed button down. There was all matter of strange geometric patterns on it interwoven with grammatical symbols in gaudy blues and reds. “Why would you spend money on this?”</p><p>Chris had just shrugged and looked pointedly at the bowler hat I’d bought. “S’ppose you’ve got an explanation for <em> that </em> then? What, did we get sent back to the roaring 20s, mate?” </p><p>“It’s classy! It’s sleek. It can go with many outfits!” I said, throwing the shirt down in disgust. “Where’re you even going to wear something like that?” </p><p>“Maybe to a weddin’,” Chris mumbled with a deadly serious expression. I couldn’t help but laugh. “Call up Elton John. See if any of his lads are havin’ one soon.” </p><p>“I’m sure he’ll be glad to have you." I went through another bag, this one all black with no logo on it, and, inexplicably, there were a pair of leather cuffs inside. I blinked owlishly up at Chris in confusion as I pulled them out, but he seemed suddenly interested in picking at his fingernails, stubbornly quiet. </p><p>Nothing about them really screamed...<em>sadomasochism </em>at first glance. The thin leather straps were remarkably supple in spite of their rough material, and the chain between them was silver and rather delicate looking. They were incredibly unassuming all things considered. “Oh.” </p><p>I didn’t dare to look at any of the other items inside the bag. I thought I might just faint from this alone and imploringly looked over at Chris again, wondering if I’d get an answer this time, but he just shrugged at me after a while. “Saw a place across the way while you were in that shop downtown." That was conveniently vague, I thought. "Decided to stop in and have a look is all.” </p><p>“I see,” I said, staring down at the cuffs. “Did you have anything planned?” </p><p>“Not really.” The answer was rushed out, too fast to be genuine, and I knew Chris wasn’t being entirely honest with me. “I liked ‘em, is all.” </p><p>I ran my fingers along the leather and marveled at how soft they felt. “Were they expensive?” </p><p>“No more than that ruddy hat, I imagine,” Chris said, casting it another glare. “Few quid is all.” </p><p>“Hm.” I blushed as I pictured how the cuffs would look on Chris and felt a little overwhelmed that he trusted me enough to do something so intimate with him. “Well, I guess if you decide on anything you should let me know.” </p><p>“I just might,” Chris said, trying for cocky but sounding more shy than anything. I pulled his hand towards me and pressed a soft kiss into his palm, brushing my cheek against his fingertips affectionately. “No promises though. Can’t have you privy to everything.” </p><p>I laughed once more as there was <em>nothing</em> Chris held back from me, ever. I’d always been so impressed by his honesty, his forthrightness. I could never be so candid about anything. I had been nervous to tell him about the stupidest things: that I liked musicals, far more than anyone should really; that I didn’t mind staying in to read a book or two while he went out clubbing. Chris erstwhile would discuss his fear of creative obscurity and told me his foray into architecture was just to ensure his presence in this world wasn't forgotten. “Then I promise not to pry. You have my word.” </p><p>/</p><p>I wasn’t sure how long we’d been kissing. Half an hour, maybe. My lips were swollen and sore, but I didn’t want to stop. Chris’ hands were under my jumper, nails digging into my skin. There’d be marks tomorrow, I was sure of that, and that excited me. “Neil, can we --” I nodded and pulled at Chris’ shirt. “I could’ve asked for anything there, y’know.” </p><p>“And you can have it,” I said, completely sincere. “Anything.” </p><p>Chris smiled at me, genuine and kind, and I found that we were already mostly undressed. The man really did have unparalleled skills with his hands - I’d not even noticed my trousers coming off. “Might come to regret that. The <em> Before </em>sleeve was just the start of me outrageous demands.” </p><p>I stroked the nape of Chris’ neck and thought that over. “It couldn’t be any worse than walking through Moscow in those outfits, surely.” </p><p>“That was <em> your </em>idea,” Chris scoffed. “I think.” </p><p>“You know, I honestly don’t remember --” Always impatient, Chris decided to roll me over and kiss down the line of my back. I cradled my hands under my head and closed my eyes appreciatively. There was the recognizable snap of a plastic bottle being opened, and I shivered as almond scented massage oil was poured across my back. This was a recent purchase of Chris' that had been greatly appreciated by me, several times over.</p><p>Those clever fingers kneaded into my shoulders and made me moan. Tension rushed out out of me and pleasure blossomed in the space it left behind. “Enjoying yourself?” Chris whispered, and I almost laughed from how self-evident that must’ve been. I nodded exaggeratedly, wriggling in pleasure. “I’ve, uh...something I wanna try if that’s alright.” </p><p>“As long as I still get the massage,” I said, smiling into the side of my arm. I could just <em>hear</em> the roll of his eyes, the one where he tilted his entire face into it just to show the enormity of his exasperation. It always made me laugh. </p><p>“Bloody princess, y’are,” Chris muttered, and I nodded proudly. “Alright, just let me know...if ye don’t like this.” </p><p>Chris pulled me down the bed a little, and I felt my arms tugged above me. It took me a moment to recognize what had been put around my wrists: the leather cuffs. The ones I’d found out about a few weeks ago while we were still on tour. They were here now, in my bedroom, and for some reason<em> I </em> was the one being restrained to the headboard. “I don’t remember the conversation going this way,” I said after a moment, curiously pulling the chain taunt. As expected, they didn’t give way. </p><p>“I know.” Chris paused and worked deep circles into the lower part of my back with his thumbs, making another moan slip out of me. “Just thought you might see what I mean. From this side of it. Hard to explain, innit?” </p><p>That was fair. I was still apprehensive about it all, but they didn’t seem to really be bothering me. They weighed almost nothing in comparison to some of the heavier costumes we wore at our concerts. Honestly, the cuffs seemed like they could be mistaken as a part of our biker phase back in the mid-80s. Oh, how I missed seeing Chris in that leather jacket all the time. </p><p>I jolted as Chris’ fingers started to rub against my entrance and realized that no matter how hard I pulled on the cuffs they wouldn't give way. It was exhilarating to realize I was entirely helpless like this, that I couldn’t go anywhere until Chris freed me. I was his to do what he wanted with, and that sent a spark of arousal all the way down my body. </p><p>Knowing I was still uneasy about being fingered, Chris dipped his fingers between my legs and worked his knuckles into my perineum. I saw stars for a moment and twisted down into the mattress for some much needed friction, panting. My shoulders ached from how hard I’d been fighting against the cuffs. “Chris --” My voice was strained, almost unrecognizable. “<em>Chris</em>.” </p><p>“Want me to let ye go?” I didn’t know how to answer. My immediate thought was to say no, as I would never, ever want Chris to leave me, but that wasn’t what he was asking about. “Neil?” </p><p>I shook my head, more in uncertainty than anything, and gasped as Chris rewarded me with another brush of his fingers against my entrance. I rolled my hips frantically against the mattress again, fingers tightening around the chains as I pulled with all my strength. I was <em> Chris’, </em>I realized. I was Chris’ <em> entirely </em>right now. The thought set me on fire. </p><p>“Oh, <em> oh</em>.” My head snapped back as I began to come, unable to breathe, unable to move, as that thought consumed me again and again. There were no words to describe the sensations running through me. I just knew I <em>wanted</em> this, and that being held down like this fulfilled me in a deep, primal way. </p><p>Shuddering, I hung limply from the headboard like a rag doll until Chris finally took the cuffs off me. I curled my knees tightly to my chest to try and calm down, breath shallow. Chris pushed in behind me, and I felt the brush of his knuckles as he touched himself. I wanted to help, but I didn’t have the strength to roll over. “Fuck,” Chris whispered, right against my ear. I arched towards him teasingly and felt warm jets of come splatter onto my lower back, making me feel aroused all over again. </p><p>With great effort on both our parts, we managed to clean up a little and got the television turned on to an old TV show that didn’t require much of our attention. We laid there together, face to face, while we talked over whether we should sleep or get something to eat. “Take out,” Chris said insistently for the third or fourth time. “<em>Pizza</em>.” </p><p>“Fine, fine,” I said with a sigh. “You’re getting up to answer the door, however.” </p><p>Chris bumped our foreheads together, looking quite distraught for a moment. “Guess some sacrifices are worth it, but’m…’m not puttin’ on pants. They’ll just have to take me as I am.” </p><p>“Oh, I’m sure that won’t be a hardship for them. I’d encourage it, really,” I said teasingly. Chris laughed so hard he snorted, and I squeezed our hands together as a small amount of courage surged through me. “Chris...I just wanted to say I understand now, what you meant, and I'm thankful for it.” </p><p>“Mm...thankful enough you’ll answer the door?” Chris said with a mischievous smile, head tilted endearingly into the pillows. “Nude?” </p><p>“Oh, <em> please</em>.” </p><p>/</p><p>I had written about the experience several times over in my journal but was unable to make any of it into lyrics. Which was a problem as my mind seemed entirely preoccupied with the thought of Chris in those cuffs, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to make a song entirely dedicated to tying my lover down, though - our audience probably wouldn’t mind all things considered. They could be a raucous bunch at times. </p><p>I was currently in the studio with Chris, listening to him tap out different melodies on his keyboard. All my inspiration kept running in the wrong direction - downwards instead of outwards onto the page. “You’ve ruined me, Chris. I’ll never write another decent song now. Your deviancy has ended our career.” </p><p>“What’sit?” Chris mumbled as he pressed on a few percussion presets. They all sounded tinny, and I told him as much. Chris disagreed and continued to work on one that made my ears ring but then it took on an enticingly tribal, jazzy beat, strangely enough. I swayed, with my eyes shut, and finally felt my pen begin to move. </p><p>
  <em> I can't be cool or nonchalant </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Call me an impulsive fool </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You're all I want </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You may be right </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It's too much to soon </em>
</p><p>
  <em> To talk of love all night </em>
</p><p>
  <em> In your bedroom </em>
</p><p>They were still a bit blatant but workable into something that didn’t sound like Chris was the only thing on my mind as I wrote them. I hesitated to hand them over, as he was the one man who’d <em> definitely </em>be able to see the intent behind them, but I forced myself to set the lyrics on his synth and went for a glass of water. By the time I came back, Chris had already written an entire melody, looking at me with a winning smile. “See? Sometimes you’ve just gotta trust me,” Chris said, and that was so true in many parts of my life. </p><p>“You’ve a face that’s hard to trust, is all,” I replied and sipped my water to hide the playful smirk on my face. Chris pushed up from the keyboards and sauntered over to me with a look that made me feel a flush of arousal, deep in the pit of my stomach. He crowded me against the wall with his arms on either side of me, suggestively sliding our hips together. I clutched the paper cup between both my hands and looked timidly towards the floor. “Yes? Do you need something?” </p><p>“Ye could say that,” Chris whispered close to my ear. I felt a deep blush creep up my neck but tried to keep up my indifferent expression, tongue nervously darting across my lips. “I’m thinking there’s a lot more ye need from me though. Just look at the bloody state of ye.” </p><p>Chris’ hand pushed between my thighs and a surprised moan slipped out from me as that earlier arousal rushed through the rest of me, making my knees tremble. I watched, almost breathlessly, as he dropped down to the floor and ran his tongue along the obvious outline of my cock, those talented fingers digging into the back of my thighs. I fervently swallowed down the rest of my water and tossed the cup aside so I could grab onto his shoulders instead, pulling anxiously at his jacket. </p><p>My mind wandered back to a week ago, as it had all day, and I tried to think through what I’d learned, what I’d felt. There were no hard or fast rules on this, it seemed, and as Chris tried to tug down my trousers - I stopped him. It was the last thing I wanted to do, really, but I had to try something before I lost my nerve. “Chris.” I went for a commanding tone, but it landed more on the side of stark apprehension. “Chris, put your hands down.” </p><p>Chris stared up at me with his eyes full of questions I couldn’t answer. So I decided to repeat myself and hoped my intentions could be sensed instead of outright spoken. “Alright, alright,” Chris murmured, and his hands rested briefly on his knees before he suddenly decided to put them behind his back. My mind struggled with just how arousing that looked. “Go on then. You’re in charge. Tell me what ye want.” </p><p>I had no idea, but my first reaction was to unzip myself so I went with that. Chris leaned forward, but I told him to hold still. Not too hard of a request for him of all people, I realized with some amusement. Steeling myself, I pushed my slacks down enough to free myself, and I couldn’t help but notice how Chris’ cocksure expression had softened, head tilted as he took in the sight of me. As if I was something he wanted, maybe needed. </p><p>My voice fought against me for a moment, but I finally got the words I wanted to say out in a croaky, unattractive whisper. “Open your mouth for me.” I paused and watched as Chris did exactly as I instructed - a first in all our time together. “Your...your tongue.” Chris lifted an unsure eyebrow towards me so I tried to clarify. “Out, please.” </p><p>Politeness didn’t seem to be the right way to go about this, but Chris didn’t have any complaints so far. Another first, I realized. I held back a laugh and slowly began to touch myself, stroking my cock from root to tip a few times. I felt oddly bashful to be doing something so private right in front of him, but, really, after he’d watched me puke on a dance floor in Berlin several years ago, drunk out of my mind and ridiculously high on ecstasy, there probably wasn’t any real justification for me to be shy now of all things. </p><p>I warred with the need to close my eyes and blinked them back open every few seconds. I wanted to watch all the nuances of emotion that flitted across Chris’ face as I pleasured myself. He was patiently watching each and every motion of my hand, eyes flitting back and forth in time with my strokes.</p><p>I had a sudden realization as my orgasm began to approach - I was a performer, wasn't I? I performed on stages and in front of cameras to thousands of people all the time, so I could perform here, too, and with that in my mind I slowly trailed my fingers along the tip of my cock, gathering up the precome. I wiped it against Chris’ tongue and forced another instruction out of myself. “Swallow it.” Chris did and put his tongue right back out, glancing up for approval. “Good. Good boy.” </p><p>The words were a complete impulse on my part, I wasn't sure how I'd even been confident enough to say them, but Chris shivered as if he’d been hit by an electric shock, hunched over himself with a low, soft moan. I didn’t register what had happened till I saw Chris lean back again, a dark stain spreading across his jeans with his hands still firmly behind his back. </p><p>My eyes stayed locked on that sight as my hand sped up along my cock, and with hardly a dozen more strokes I began to come, grabbing at Chris’ shoulder to keep myself upright. I could hardly breathe for a moment and slowly sank down to join Chris on the floor as my orgasm shuddered through my extremities, feeling flushed and warm all over. </p><p>Chris leaned heavily against me, and I courteously wiped my hand off on my trousers before wrapping him in my arms, pushing my face into his neck. There was such a poignant silence between us that I didn’t want to say anything. I just basked in the afterglow instead. After a while, Chris started to laugh, and I leaned back a little to see why, curious. “How’m I s’pposed to get home like this! Now ye’ve gotta bloody drive me back to my flat to get changed.” </p><p>“Think it’s a fetching look for you,” I said, smiling. Chris shoved lightly at my shoulder and rolled his eyes, clearly not impressed. “Though...you could just come back to mine and not have to wear anything at all.” </p><p>“‘M all shagged out for today, I’m afraid. Just the telly and a few beers for me tonight.” I pulled Chris back against me and pressed a kiss to his temple, stroking the nape of his neck. “Maybe a nice snog before bed.” </p><p>“What about dinner?” I asked, comforted by the familiarity of our conversation. Chris shrugged and pulled absently at a loose thread on my cardigan. “Toast and eggs it is then.” </p><p>/</p><p>Everything went back to normal so easily between us. Our idle chit chat and typical spats filled the days and weeks, and if I had seen Chris come just from the excitement of being called a <em>good boy</em> it wasn’t brought up. I wondered if maybe I’d dreamt it sometimes, but I remembered the grueling amount of time I had to spend washing out the stain. Chris argued that because I’d caused him to come himself that it was my problem to deal with now - and no, it wasn’t because he was too lazy to do it himself. </p><p>We were sequestered away in some moderately nice restaurant late one evening, just back from a horrid photo shoot that gone on far too long, when I felt Chris run his hand up my thigh, jolting me from my thoughts. “Yes?” I asked, distractedly staring into my champagne flute. </p><p>“I was just thinking tonight ye should come back to my place." I shrugged as that made no difference to me. I only wondered why we bothered to have separate flats at this point. We rarely wanted to be without each other anyways. Chris said we’d appreciate having our own separate places, but my things were scattered all over his apartment and his stuff had slowly accumulated up in mine. “I’ve...I’ve a plan, I mean.”</p><p>“Oh?” I asked, but we were interrupted as our waiter came by with dinner. The photo shoot had taken up most of the morning, and I was famished since no one had thought to hire a catering team. The terrible coffee had barely gotten me through. Chris brought up the idea again after I’d gotten through most of my asparagus, and I finally took in his expression. “Oh...you’ve a <em> plan</em>.” </p><p>Chris nodded, picking at his side salad with obvious disinterest. “I’m not sure how ye feel about all this an' all, but...I had an idea for us to try.” </p><p>“I’m not sure how I feel about it either,” I admitted but was quick to amend myself when Chris started to look distraught. “I can definitely say that I don’t mind it so far. I had thought it was entirely outrageous when you first asked me, but I’ve...I’ve enjoyed myself.” Chris bumped our shoulders together affectionately, and I leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek. “You're always talking me into making terrible decisions, aren't you? I shouldn’t be surprised at this point.” </p><p>“Aye,” Chris said with an impish smile. “Me terrible decisions seem to make ye come don’t they?” I choked on a dinner roll and took a furious sip of water, glaring over at him. “Just a thought.” </p><p>“Don’t they teach proper dinner etiquette in Blackpool?” I asked, laughing at Chris’ indignant ‘<em>Oi!’ </em>“Suppose everyone's too busy trying to keep the drunkards out the road, hm?” </p><p>“Mm,” Chris said around a sip of wine. “We throw great stag and hen parties at least. Ones that no one'll remember come the next morning.” </p><p>“For good reason, I expect.” I laughed and leaned back against the booth we were sat in, sighing. “Are we still going out to the club then?” </p><p>“Up to you. Wouldn’t mind dancing for a while. Feelin’ cooped up after all the nonsense earlier.” I nodded in agreement. “Heaven?”</p><p>“No, no. Let’s do Central Station tonight,” I said with a slow smile. </p><p>“Oh, we 'aving a go in the dark room tonight, are we?” Chris crowed, leering. “Neil Tennant, bent over in the back of the club getting rammed up the arse by a strappin’ young lad. What a <em> scandal</em>.” </p><p>“Hush you,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. “It’s closer to your flat is all I mean.” </p><p>“Sure, sure, but ye’ll not be coming back to me flat stinkin’ of some other knob. So ye better keep yer hands to yourself in there.” </p><p>“You’re a <em> menace</em>, Chris Lowe.” </p><p>/ </p><p>The crowd had been sparse at the club, and we had a few cheap drinks before dancing to the one or two good songs that came on. There were some house mixes that didn’t do much for us, but a few familiar disco records kept us satisfied. After an hour or so, we took our leave and made our way back to Chris' flat, excited for what came next. </p><p>Which turned out to be a shower. We’d both gotten soaked with sweat and the general funk of being in a seedy club like Central. We shared a few long kisses before clambering out just as fast as we got in and left a trail of water behind us, rushing to the bedroom. We were too impatient to towel ourselves off. </p><p>“Close yer eyes for a minute,” Chris whispered into my neck, making me shiver. “I’m gonna get some stuff.” </p><p>I sat on the bed and did as asked, feeling sorely tempted to peak. The restraints surely were a part of Chris' devious plan, but I couldn’t picture what else he might’ve had in mind. He’d suggested I do a bit of <em> research </em>about a week ago and purposefully left a pile of lewd magazines at my apartment to help with that, but...I’d been far too nervous to look at any of them. </p><p>“Okay,” Chris said, and I felt the bed dip in front of me. His voice sounded strange, lower than usual, husky almost. “Alright, open ‘em. Have a look.” </p><p>Taking a breath, I blinked my eyes open and saw Chris knelt in front of me, hands on his knees. As expected, the restraints were there, only on one wrist for the moment, but there was a significant addition this time around: a collar with a lead. “O-oh,” I managed. My pulse spiked, and I could feel a burning desire spark inside me. </p><p>Chris’ hand picked up the end of the lead and handed it to me, looking at me with an uncertain expression. I stared at it for a long while and tried to take it all in. The leather was as soft as the cuffs interestingly. I wondered if they’d maybe even been a set. “Issit alright?” </p><p>I nodded and held onto the lead tighter, giving it a light tug. Chris tilted forward a little, and I let our lips push together, tentative at first but soon with more purpose. The amount of trust Chris must have had in me to do this was overwhelming. I still wasn’t entirely sure picking someone like me to do this with was the best idea, but then - as he’d said before - I really should learn to trust him more on these things. </p><p>With a quiet moan, I pulled the lead harder and got Chris into my lap. I felt equally aroused as I was terrified with so much control in my hands. There were too many possibilities circling through my head, my mind spinning as fast as a carnival ride at Pleasure Beach. I wasn’t sure how to start, where to begin - if Chris had any particular expectations. </p><p>Thankfully Chris seemed to pick up on my worrying and pulled back a little to cup my cheek. I trembled as the silver chain dangling from his wrist brushed my skin. “Let’s start like I did with ye, huh?” That seemed reasonable, and I rolled Chris onto his stomach, tugging his arms up. “Just loop the strap through, not too tight.” </p><p>That done, I paused to soak in the sight of Chris like this. My darkest fantasies couldn’t have dreamed up such a seductive sight, and I hurriedly squeezed at the base of my shaft to calm myself down. Chris laughed when he noticed, but I quickly got the lead back in my hand, tugging in warning. “Now, now. If I’m the one to be...<em>orchestrating</em> all this then I don’t need you giggling like a schoolboy at me. Cheeky bugger.” </p><p>“Then bloody well touch me already,” Chris griped, wiggling his hips enticingly. A sudden urge struck me, and I landed a light smack against his arse. In an instant, Chris’ indignant look melted away, and a long, low moan sounded from him, face pushed down into the pillows. The clatter of the restraints made my cock throb with pleasure. </p><p>Setting the lead down, I went for the other supplies in the nightstand with my shaky hands and my dizzying, hurried thoughts. Was this too fast? Was there something else I should do first? Surely if there was something else I was meant to do Chris would’ve told me by now, and he wouldn’t be arching up in readiness when I got the lube opened. </p><p>I straddled his thighs and trailed my fingers down Chris’ back in slow circles, taking in the sight of the collar around his neck. The leather was as thin as the cuffs, probably just as soft, and didn’t have any special decorations. No spikes or studs. Just plain leather with a silver buckle at the back. I reached to hook my fingers around it and tugged, watching as Chris' head tilted back in response.</p><p>I let go and eased my hands down over his shoulders and worked my fingers into the muscles there, the lube forgotten about for now. Chris groaned appreciatively and relaxed into my touch. I kissed down his spine and let myself taste the skin along his lower back. There was still the taste of sweat, new as well as old, and the tartness of his soap, and I impulsively reached for the lead again, pulling hard. “<em>Neil,</em>” Chris whispered, sounding out of breath. “Neil, bloody hurry it up.” </p><p>I should’ve mentioned that <em> I </em> was in charge right now, not him, but I picked up the lube and squeezed a bit onto my fingers. Chris arched up, ready for me, and I pulled up on my knees so I could have enough room to draw my fingers down towards his entrance. The ring of muscle was impossibly tight, but it seemed to easily be able to take my finger after a slight push. </p><p>“Fuck. <em> Fuck</em>,” Chris gasped, and I tuned in to the sound of the cuffs scraping against the headboard again. To know Chris was feeling the same as I had made a strange thrill go through me, sweat trickling down my neck and slipping into the dip of my spine. “Oh, <em> please</em>, Neil.” </p><p>“A little more,” I whispered, trying to get a second finger in now. It proved more difficult than the first, and I grabbed the lead as a distraction. Chris fell for the diversion, and the tension lessened enough that I was able to get the other digit inside him. I wasn’t sure how long I’d actually last after all this. </p><p>After I’d gotten him to loosen up a little, I reached for the condom and tore it open with my teeth, unwilling to let go of the lead. I fumbled a little in rolling it on with just one hand but was soon able to get myself lined up and ready. “<em>Hurry</em>,” Chris whined, hips pushing back against me. “Fuck me. Just <em> fuck me </em> already.” </p><p>“Patience,” I chided, wiping at the sweat near my eyes. With a hard pull on the lead, I felt myself sink into Chris with a rather disgusting sounding noise, but I focused on getting my thighs slotted around his own, trying not to push in too fast. I was sure Chris wouldn’t mind if I hurried this along, with the sounds he was making and all, but I wanted to try and make this at least somewhat pleasant for both of us. </p><p>The cuffs clanked louder in Chris’ impatience, guttural noises rumbling out of his throat, and I let myself fall into a faster rhythm, wanting to keep pace. I imagined this would be over quickly for us both, the build up too long and too much for us to slow down and enjoy this more. </p><p>I ducked down to rub my face into his neck, felt the smooth leather of his collar against my cheek. I wished for the words that could describe how glad I felt to be the one to do this with him, to be trusted this deeply by him. Despite the doubts, the fears I had, I was immensely enjoying these new experiences - from both sides, too. </p><p>“Oh, oh <em> fuck</em>,” Chris shouted, and I felt a familiar tightness around me as he began to come. I pressed open mouthed kisses along his ear, his throat, and around the collar, biting a small love mark into the skin just beneath the buckle. </p><p>My own orgasm tumbled through me not long after, and I frantically pushed myself through the aftershocks, until I could feel the shivers of overstimulation, and even then I struggled to pull myself away. I wanted to stay inside him until I was hard again, wanted to keep going like this for hours. Though that might be a little overzealous on my part. </p><p>After a few long, difficult minutes of immutable struggle, I managed to untie the cuffs despite my fingers fumbling in every direction. He reached to pull the collar off as soon as he was freed, and I almost asked him to keep it on, missing the sight of it around his neck, but there was no way it’d be comfortable to sleep in. </p><p>We laid together in pleasant silence for a few minutes, shifting under the blankets after Chris had gotten the condom tugged off me, and I wondered if either of us would have the strength to turn the lights off. It seemed an impossible task at this point. </p><p>“That was a bit of alright, wasn’t it?” Chris whispered as I leaned in for a kiss, and I could feel his smile pressed against my lips. “Thought we might not make it to the finale, but you pulled through there at the end.” </p><p>“It was...sensational to say the least,” I replied, pushing our mouths together. There were no tongues, no heat or urgency. Just the chaste touch of our lips. “I’m excited to try...to try on the other item myself.” </p><p>Chris laughed, softly, and ran his fingers across the buzzed sides of my hair, nudging me with his knee. “Want me to collar you, Tennant? Want me to fuck you all trussed up like a turkey?” </p><p>I blushed and rolled onto my back in retribution, but, as expected, Chris just scooted over and stretched himself alongside me, yawning. “Well, you certainly seemed to enjoy it enough.” </p><p>“Oh, I did,” Chris said, absently running his fingers along my chest. “Just can’t imagine you letting me put that on you is all.” </p><p>“It wouldn't be the weirdest thing for me to don, considering our stage outfits, but...” I paused, realizing the difference between our bedroom and the stage were quite vast. “But you looked really good in it, as well.” </p><p>“Ye’ve got a wild side to you in there somewhere after all, eh? Not the innocent Catholic boy anymore, no.” </p><p>“Not since you came back to look at my synthesizer,” I said, somewhat dramatically. Chris laughed and leaned in to press a kiss against my jaw. “You’ve absolutely corrupted me.”</p><p>“Oh, just wait till ye see what else I’ve bought. I’ve only just started.” </p>
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